I Thought That I Identified As a Gay Woman - David Bowie Enabled Me to Realize the Reality

During 2011, a couple of years before the acclaimed David Bowie show launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a homosexual woman. Previously, I had only been with men, including one I had married. After a couple of years, I found myself approaching middle age, a newly single parent to four children, residing in the US.

During this period, I had started questioning both my sense of self and romantic inclinations, looking to find clarity.

I entered the world in England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my companions and myself didn't have Reddit or digital content to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; rather, we sought guidance from music icons, and in that decade, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore masculine attire, The flamboyant singer wore girls' clothes, and bands such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured performers who were openly gay.

I desired his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and flat chest. I wanted to embody the Berlin-era Bowie

In that decade, I spent my time driving a bike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My partner relocated us to the US in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction back towards the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the museum, anticipating that possibly he could provide clarity.

I lacked clarity precisely what I was seeking when I entered the display - maybe I thought that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, in turn, encounter a hint about my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a small television screen where the film clip for "that track" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking polished in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three supporting vocalists wearing women's clothing gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these characters failed to move around the stage with the poise of natural performers; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and expressed annoyance at the monotony of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their diminished energy. I felt a fleeting feeling of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their heavy makeup, uncomfortable wigs and restrictive outfits.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - irritated and impatient, as if they were longing for it all to end. Precisely when I realized I was identifying with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to shed all constraints and transform like Bowie. I desired his narrow hips and his precise cut, his strong features and his male chest; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, Bowie's German period. And yet I found myself incapable, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as queer was one thing, but personal transformation was a significantly scarier outlook.

I required further time before I was prepared. In the meantime, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my feminine garments, cut off my hair and commenced using men's clothes.

I sat differently, changed my stride, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before medical intervention - the potential for denial and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

Once the David Bowie show completed its global journey with a stint in the American metropolis, following that period, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Positioned before the same video in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem didn't involve my attire, it was my biological self. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been wearing drag since birth. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, dancing in the spotlight, and at that moment I understood that I had the capacity to.

I booked myself in to see a physician shortly afterwards. The process required further time before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I anticipated came true.

I maintain many of my female characteristics, so others regularly misinterpret me for a homosexual male, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I sought the ability to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I am able to.